The Assassin of Time
by Derexas the Dark Angel
Summary: In the time space continium, a man by the name of Sylvester Galigandro travels through time to assasinate anyone who desires to corrupt the timeline. But he meets a woman who changes his life forever. Although he is probably dead, his journal has been found. See into what made him a legend. (I intend to put a new picture up for the story but I'll need to work on it)
1. Death at a Theatre

The Assassin of Time

Chapter I: Death at a Theatre

February 13th 1769

People often say that time is fragile, that one could destroy it with a single mistake. I've often thought of it as foolishness or something that is made up by fools seeking attention. It never occurred to me that time is so delicate. Just one mistake could shatter the timeline and cause chaos. To me, it sounded like something out of a book that some nut wrote in his spare time. But when I learned about my family's gift, I didn't know what to say.

My name is Sylvester, Sylvester Solomon Galigandro; but please just call me Sylvester. At first glance, I may seem like just an everyday fellow. Seemingly traveling around the city or town, doing who gives a damn. I may seem like nobody to you, but to my family, I'm a prodigy. I was born with tremendous talent and an amazing IQ. My powers, it's rather simple, Time Control.

To some people, traveling through time isn't as thrill seeking as jumping off a cliff or fighting with a bear in the jungle. But we need it to be safe from our enemy. Unlike my family, another family was born with the same powers. But they wanted to change history, mold it to their image you could say. It's our job to stop them, the rest doesn't matter as long as the timeline stays balanced.

I am currently living in the time: February 13th 1769, a year before the Boston Massacre. I live as a noble clockmaker In Central Boston. But I wasn't born in this era, I'm just living here to get stronger. But don't think I'll say when I was born, that's a secret. What you can know is that I'm 24 years old and I've been manipulating time since I was eight years old. Let me be honest, puberty wasn't fun at all.

I woke up to the sound of many clocks ticking around me. I was taking some time to get a nap in because I was tired. It was getting dark out and I wasn't gonna go to bed yet because I have a job to do. Making clocks all days isn't exactly an easy task. But it gives me gold in my pocket and good food to eat.

I looked around my room and saw the clocks around me. Wooden Cuckoo clocks hung all over the walls. Each with a different style, paint, or engraving on each. Eight beautifully made grandfather clocks stood against the walls. A long desk by a beautifully made window stood next to my bed. The desk was covered in rolls of parchment, new tools, old tools, broken tools, clock parts, pieces of wood, small vials of paint. My quill and ink stood by a small table laid on the other side of my bed.

Sometimes I felt like one day my ink would spill over and muck up my face. Someday my short silver hair would turn black so people wouldn't see me as an old man from behind. My thought's would often revolve around it. Surprisingly it hasn't happened yet, but I'll just let it go for now.

I went over to my wardrobe and got dressed. I put on my black breeches with my white silk stockings and low-heel black leather shoes that had been fitted with silver buckles six days ago. I put on my white long shirt, which I had tucked in to look formal for a play. I reached for my black waistcoat which I had laced with silver threading except for the cuffs which had gold threading.

I looked into the mirror as I thought what I'm supposed to do. I was going to take the carriage to the theatre and meet up with my old mentor, my older brother Zen. From there, I'm supposed to find a Senator name Eric Thatcher and kill him without drawing attention to myself. Then quickly leave without arousing suspicion from the guards.

I tied back my long silver hair, it reached down to my shoulders now. I tied it back with my special black bow and reached for my black cocked hat. Thinking about how I'm gonna do it, I figured a good old stabbing through the back of his chair should do the trick. He's been conspiring with the enemy for fourty years now. Unfortunately for him, he's my target.

I walked outside and was immediately greeted by a light brown carriage. I quickly got in and we went to the theatre.

As we got there, the place was swarming with people. Everyone was dressed up nice to enjoy an evening of fun. Too bad they'll be running out the theatre screaming about a murder. I didn't think twice about it, just the fact that I have a job to do.

I found myself looking for a seat when I noticed a tall burly man with silver hair just as long as mine sitting with his arms crossed in one of the rows on the left side. I figured that was Zen, waiting patiently for me to sit next to him. I made my way to his row, sliding past a few people as I made my way across the row. I sat down to his right side and saw that he was watching me.

"Hello dear brother," said Zen in a deep tone.

"Hello big brother," I said, looking around for my target.

"Have you seen this play before?" Zen asked. He kept his gaze at the curtain, which was still closed.

"One time, grandfather brought me. But I was too young to even remember it." My eyes wandered around the theatre. "But I guess I won't be having the liberty to see it again." I looked up at one of the balcony's on the right side of the theatre and saw him. Wearing blue clothing with a white powdered wig. His face looked wrinkled, then again he is sixty-four. He was sitting alone, that'll make it easier. On that side was four other balconies. His balcony was in the corner at the end closest to the stage.

"I guess you found him?" Zen asked in a whisper. I only responded with a nod, I was more distracted by my target.

Suddenly the lights from multiple candles lit up the stage. The curtains pulled back as two actors came out on stage. A man wearing clothes like mine, but his hair was dark brown and his clothes were British red with gold lace. A woman came and stood beside him wearing a baby blue silk dress fitted with lavender lace. She was also a brunette, but hers was darker than his.

I've heard of this play before, a British soldier falls in love with a Patriot woman and he's torn between who he serves and the woman he loves. It's ends horribly with the two of them dying by his fellow soldiers. They hold hands for the last time and meet death without regret. I've heard great things about it. I guess it's supposed to be a romantic play, but I don't have time for that.

I slowly stood up so I wouldn't draw attention to myself. Lucky for me, everybody's attention was fixed on the play. I made my way across the row and found a small platform to the side. I reached the platform and found a door. I opened it and found myself in a three-foot wide hallway. I made my way down and found a latter that would go up to the second row.

I reached the second row and found a door. I put my ear to the door and listened as a few guards were behind it. From what I could tell, it was two guards talking about one of the child actresses in the play.

"I can't believe my little girl is in this play," said one of the guards in a proud tone.

"I know how you feel," said the other guard. "My eldest son is in this play too, he's the main character, James Helrick." I reached inside my coat, pulled a small four-inch black knife out of one of my many coat scabbards. Holding it down to my side, I was prepared to fight if they came in the door.

But I could hear their footsteps starting to walk away. With a sigh of relief, I opened the door slowly. Just enough so I could watch them leave. They went around the hallway and disappeared from my sight. But I was still listening in to anything behind me and the door. But my heart settled when all around me was the muffled sound the actors and actresses. The entire second floor was as silent as a grave. Even though unsettling for some, who live with a sort of noise, I find the silence very enlightening. I've lived in my clock house for a few years now, but I still crave that silence.

The people started applauding, which I could hear easily. I opened the door, slowly closing it behind me as I made my way to the third floor. I'd have to get to the other side of the building to reach my target. I put my knife back in its scabbard and proceeded to my target.

I made my way down the hallway and was instantly greeted by a vast array of paintings by Leonardo Da Vinci, George Jamesone, Edmund Ashfield, William Peake, and even William Segar. To be honest, I'm actually intrigued my their work. But I was hoping that some of Rowland Lockey's paintings would be present. But I didn't take the time to check, I'm running on tight schedule.

Making my way to the other side of the building, I found a small white stone staircase that led up to the third floor. It was only used if there was some kind of emergency so the guards could secure the people up on the balconies. I can get go up them but I'll have to find a different way down. People up in the balconies are usually checked up on every ten minutes. So I'd better not waste time.

I found myself in a large hallway that was also silent too. But the sounds of violins playing echoed throughout the halls. On the walls by the stairs were other paintings that truthfully I didn't care for. On the other wall was about five sets of lavender colored curtains. If I remember correctly, his is at the end.

I made my way up to the curtains but quickly had to hide as one of the theatres butlers came walking out of the curtain. Luckily for me he didn't see me, he just walked away. He was just leaving the balcony that my target is at. As he disappeared, I quickly went through the curtain, hoping that nobody else would randomly appear.

Mr. Thatcher was sitting calmly in a chair drinking a glass of apple wine. Behind him was a single chair, which I proceeded to sit in. My breath was silent, but he could tell that I was behind him. Without hesitating, he calmly sat his glass down on the small cherry-wood table by his left side. His hands were wrinkled from his old age and barely trembled.

"So you've come to kill me?" Mr. Thatcher asked in a whisper so he wouldn't alarm anyone. But I remained silent, hoping that he wouldn't make a scene. "They told me that someone would come sooner or later to kill me." I broke my silence by whispering back.

"So you're aware of your crimes," I said, slowly pulling the same knife out of my coat. I held it in my left hand, which I kept on my lap. "Then you're aware of what come next." Mr. Thatcher took a huge gulp and proceeded to whisper.

"To be honest, I'm glad you're here," said Mr. Thatcher. "I've grown tired of this life. I'm tired of being afraid of people trying to kill me. Working for those bastards all these years as taken its toll on me. My family hates me and my granddaughter can't stand to look at me." He mood seemed to lighten up as he started talking some more. "But in all fairness, I guess I just wanted the right person to kill me. I can't look upon their faces anymore, seeing their hate has broken my heart." With my right hand, I reached inside my coat and pulled out a small brown rag. I laid my hand gently on his shoulder to make him aware that it'll happen soon.

"If it's any consolation, I'm sorry." In a split second, my right hand moved over his mouth, the rag covered his mouth so tightly that he couldn't scream.

I thrusted the knife into the back of the chair where his heart would be. For a few seconds, he was trying to scream in agony but the rag in my hand muffled his voice. He didn't kick though, just tried to scream. But I could hear him cry as a few tears fell down onto my hand. His body went limp and his voice faded away, he was dead.

I couldn't help but feel bad about doing this, but he's been helping THEM corrupt the timeline. And that to us is unforgivable.

"Rest in Peace Mr. Thatcher," I said, slowly pulling the knife out of his heart.

After wiping it clean on the bottom of his coat, I pulled the ragged away and looked at his face to close his eyes. He wasn't frowning or showing any pain, just a joyful smile printed plainly on his face. After closing his eyes, I could help but think. Is it wrong to kill a man who already wants to die? To be just some stranger asking you to kill him? I often find myself thinking about it every night before I go to sleep. But right before I'm asleep I think of my answer; "Only if they have nothing left to live for and wish for it, then I should grant them a quick death to erase their sorrows and pain."

Casually walking out of the curtain, I made my way through the same staircase I came up. Because I made such good time, no one will know for another six minutes. By that time, I'd be on the first floor about to leave. Without a moment to lose, I'd be out of the building and into my carriage before anyone even notices me.

The sounds of screams roared out of the theatre as one of the butlers discovered the body as I made my way down the main staircase. People started flying out in a mass panic as others tried but were jammed up by the other people. All of whom kept screaming about the dead body on the balcony. My calculations were right, as usual.

The Main Hall became flustered with people as I made my way to the Main Entrance. People were running outside as I blended in with them. Quietly avoiding suspicion, I made my way outside to find my brother waiting for me in his carriage. His face was somewhat muscular with a brawny flat jaw and sort of stuck out chin with a cleft in the center. His nose was somewhat arched and his lips were somewhat flat at the top and bottom to compensate his features. His eyes were a beautiful velvet color with silver lashes.

"That was quick," said Zen, inviting me in. I stepped inside and we immediately departed. He offered me a glass of wine but I kindly said no. I'd prefer not to get drunk so I can always stay focused. "So now we won't be bothered for a while. You made it out okay, no problems?"

"No, just a simple job."

"You've done our family proud," said Zen, patting me on the shoulder. "Because of you, the timeline is safe for now. But it won't be another time." He pulled his hand away and starred at me. "We do what must be done for the sake of balance and peace." Without thinking, I just nodded my head and spoke a few works.

"You're right!" Zen smiled and looked out the window.

As we rode home, I thought about reading a nice book before going to bed. But I'll enjoy a nice dinner of fresh herring roasted on the fire with lemon sauce and some bread with strawberry jam. Thinking about Mr. Thatcher doesn't really affect me as much has it would a normal person. I've been doing this since I was fifteen and I could swing a sword. I'm no ordinary clockmaker as you can see, I'm an Assassin of Time.

Find out what happens next in Chapter II: A Family Treasure

**Sylvester: Hello everyone, Sylvester Galigandro here. This entry of my journal has been allowed to be shown. I may be long gone from this world, using other names to disquise myself. But my true name is Slyvester Galigandro. What I offer is truth to those who read my journal. Time if fragile, it must never be broken. Else you'd desire the world to crumble within Chaos. As I grow older, my mind grows sharper and more unique. I'm not just a Time Traveler, I'm an Assassin of Time.**


	2. A Family Treasure

The Assassin of Time

Chapter II: A Family Treasure

February 23rd 1769

It's been over a week since I killed Mr. Thatcher at the Theatre. It's still the talk of the week. I often see kids on wooden boxes in front of my shop. Holding papers saying, "Mysterious assassin still walks around Boston. Twenty-four pounds to anyone who has information that could lead to an arrest." I often find myself laughing, they're never gonna find out it was me. I made sure of that myself. Can't afford to have any loose ends, no matter how small. Everything must be discrete.

I was sitting at my table thinking about my orders today. Because of the madness on the streets, orders haven't coming in as much as they used to. On a regular day, I get about fifteen to nineteen orders a week. Mostly standard stuff like, eleven standard wood clocks, seven cuckoo clocks, three grandfather clocks, and the occasional pocket watch. Because of my powers, I can do them whenever I want. But I'm still cautious to how many times I manipulate the Flow of Time.

In one hand was a small black hour hand and in the other was a small gear. I got an order a few days ago from some woman who's father gave it to her. Technically she sent me a letter with the watch in pieces. Apparently she tried to fix it herself but she ended up breaking it. You never let someone without experience fix something so valuable. The last time that happened I got a grandfather clock all the way from New York that was completely trashed. I could've fixed it but someone from the other family was too close for comfort. I would've killed her but I detest killing children.

I managed to fix the watch up and figured I had thirty-four minutes and seven seconds of time to kill before she got here to pick it up. I have two minutes and fifty-three seconds before Zen comes. (Before you ask I can see into the future but only if I choose too) And then in two hours, sixteen minutes and nineteen seconds before an older gentleman comes in to ask for a cuckoo clock repair. I guess I'll have a busy day but I'll have a lot of extra time.

A small knock came at the door as I looked at olive green clock beside my right hand. My brother walked inside with a small grin on written on his face. Just like I said he came in the exact amount of time I said. I'm actually glad he decided to come because he was hiding from the other family. I'm surprised that he hasn't sent in a single letter since the theatre incident. He's normally very adamant about sending me a letter the very next day.

"Hello Zen, what brings you around on this afternoon day?" Zen walked over to a small collection of old broken clocks that I've been scrounging parts from for the past few days.

"I'm sorry I haven't sent a letter to you but I've been speaking to mother and father about your recent assignment," he said. With his right hand, he reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a balled up old red cloth. "He held it firmly in his hand as he turned around to walk over to me. "Because of your excellent deeds and mastery of our family's gift father has decided to pass this down to you." He set the balled up cloth onto the table.

As my hands touched the cloth, I could hear this small ticking in my ears. I pulled back the wrappings to reveal a silver pocket watch with the Galigandro family crest; the hourglass and shield on the front casing of the pocket watch. It was a little bigger than all the usual pocket watches but what really drew me in was the expert artisanship of the casing. It was brand new and freshly polished with engravings of all the hours circling our family crest. This is extremely detailed and valuable to carry in an old cloth. That's just an insult to good craftsmanship when it could be displayed with the upmost respect that it deserves.

I picked it up and carefully opened it to reveal its older inside. The yellow parchment and standard ink designs look much older however. The hands were the sorest sight because they were painted black but there was also plenty of chips in the paint. The gears too had the same situation but they seem to work. Everything twisted and turned however as it should because it wouldn't be worth as much if it didn't.

But this pocket watch never ceases to amaze me. It's been in my family for hundreds of years since our family first came to America. From what I've been told these parts haven't been changed or fixed up in any way. But the casing however has been replaced just recently. Nothing this nice can last for years without getting a niche or two at least. Especially in our family because father's getting older and he's dropped it a few times because of his arthritis.

"I thought father was gonna give it to you. After all you're the oldest and most worthy." He smiled as he reached out to pat me on the shoulder.

"Thank you for that but I happen to agree with father," he said in a proud tone. "I've offered to have the honor to bring it to you because it's a special occasion. I just hope that you treat this with the upmost respect and discretion. For this treasure is an important artifact of our family."

I couldn't agree more, this is an artifact. However it's not the thing you lock up in a museum. Our family has been protecting it for a reason. A watch with the power to control the very essence of time is no joke. It's been blessed by the Goddess of Time as a tool to teach it's bearer that time is fragile. If held in the wrong hands than it'll destroy us all. We could bury it but it's been given to our family because of our respectful and discrete nature. We don't go flaunting our powers around like utter fools.

But a treasure like this shouldn't be in my hands. Zen is older and much more mature than me. The only reason I do so well is because I can see into the future. That's an ability you don't really see in my family. We just travel to the future to see what's gonna happen next. It's only on a rare occasion that someone could be blessed with such a gift. How I am blessed with it still boggles my mind.

"I can't believe that father would give this to me."

"He believes as well as I do that you and me are the future of our family," he said. "But this watch is made for those who can and will be masters. I am an honors student just like you but your gifts exceed even my own. I myself am glad to see my baby brother being trusted with this responsibility."

I held the watch firmly in my hands and thought about father. He's a great man and mentor to us. But he was in his early forties when I was born. I had to learn under my brother because time was starting to get to father. His arthritis and hips aren't like they used to be. Back then he could've done anything but he was forced to retire because he started throwing out his hip every once in a while. Even though he can't time-travel anymore I still respect him. He's my dad and I love him for it.

"How's father doing?" Zen's gaze turned sharper and his face became grim as I asked.

"He's gotten sick again," he said in a serious tone. "His seizures and his feint spells are lasting longer and longer and his headaches are turning into migraines. We jumped to the 21st century to find out what was wrong and it turns out that father has a tumor in his brain."

My heart started to beat even faster. I can't believe that father wouldn't tell us he was sick. He's normally very open with us about his condition. Why couldn't he tell me that his condition was getting work? I would've gladly left work to go and see him. Then again, he's the type of person to pass something off as nothing. But this is serious, he could die from this. This just isn't like him either.

"Is there any way to help him?"

"There's a surgery procedure that could save his life but I'm afraid the risk of him dying is too great. It would be easier but he's been dealing with this for years and it's just too advanced."

"What's he planning on doing now?"

"You should be able to see what he's gonna do with your magic eyes," he said. His fists clenched up and his attitude towards me became more jealous. Since I was born he was always jealous that I can see into the future. However…

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like this. I can't use these eyes for personal gain. All I can use them for is if my life is in any danger or where my target is gonna be so I can prepare. If I try to use them to see father than all it would do is give me a searing migraine."

His face didn't look too pleased in my answer. I wish it could work like that but it just can't. The last time I tried to see his future all I got was a blurry picture and a horrible migraine. I don't understand why that happens but then again I don't use it as much as I should. Like I said I only use them it see my targets next location and to secure my life. I only discovered I had it when I was eleven but I've hardly used them for myself.

This family, something doesn't feel right about them. They've trained us to be emotionally distant from other people, even our own family. Hell even my own father would be considered a friend at best because of this. We're not that close because we don't see each other much. My brother Zen however is more like a father to me. After all he's the one that trained me and taught me about my heritage.

"You've made quite a life for yourself here," he said, walking over to a small red clock on the shelf behind me. "I never would've thought I'd see you as the type to work with clocks."

"They're interesting. Every bit and gear is special." He didn't seem impressed in my answer. Then again, I could care less. I've made my choice to hide out here as a clock repairer. "And besides, all I'm trying to make a life for myself in case I have to stay here for longer than I have too."

"That's good thinking about the future," he said. I focused my attention back on polishing and already finished pocket watch for my client. She should be here in ten minutes and forty-nine seconds. "I'm sorry that I've overstay my visit. I should've left a few minutes ago to take down my next target. We don't have anything for you at the moment so you have some free time."

"Thanks Zen. And thanks for trusting me with our family treasure." He nodded his head and made his way over to the front door. As he reached for the handle, I could see a small smile on his face. But I didn't pay attention long enough to care. It was a good visit and I could use some free time to work on some things.

I listened to the door open about halfway before it stopped. I looked up from my work to see Zen staring outside. His tall bulky figure tightened and rose as he took a breath. I couldn't help but wonder what seemed to distract him. But as I thought about it, something felt off. I can't explain it but seeing him is starting to make me feel uneasy. Like something's gonna happen or he's gonna do something….I'm not really sure. But I can bet that if he messes up or something bad does happen that it'll be fixed.

"Tell father thanks for trusting me." Zen nodded his head and walked out the door.

I focused back on my work but still listened to door close behind him. I'll admit that it was a nice visit from my brother. But I'm still troubled by that feeling. It's completely unprofessional to think about feelings but in my case it's different. I can't see my family's future but I'll get a feeling all the time.

But the best thing for me to do is just think about my work. I have time off from assignments so I can continue my work. Luckily I finished the watch a few days ago so I could put it off and work on other things. In a few more day's thing's get back to the way they used to be and I'll have more orders. But for now I'll just focus on finishing up for my next client.

Find out what happens next in Chapter III: The Woman in the Window.

_**Sylvester Galigandro: I do apologize if I seem a little boring to anyone reading my diary. But to be honest this is how I was back in the day. All I thought about was whatever assignment I was doing. But I guarantee you guys that it's gonna get more interesting from here on out. So please stay tuned for the next chapter to see what happens next.**_


	3. The Woman in the Window

The Assassin of Time

Chapter III: The Woman in the Window

February 23rd 1769

I looked out the window and thought about my next client. In exactly two minutes and thirty-nine seconds, she'll appear in that window. I'll hand it to her and she'll pay me than I can continue with my next task. I have a cuckoo clock that was sent in a few hours ago from some guy in New York who needed it for his brother. It's just a standard broken gear so it won't take too long.

I held my family's pocket watch in my hand, wondering why it was so special. I know it has the power to control time but it doesn't look like it. There were a few buttons on the left side as well as a few on the other side. I pushed one of the buttons and heard a small click. I opened the pocket watch and was amazed that it actually stopped. It still works considering it's old age like a brand new watch. It's no shock that something like this could exist if it was blessed by the Goddess of Time.

But around me was the sound of silence, not a single clock made a sound. I looked around to see that every clock in my shop completely stopped going. But what really amazed is that when I looked outside something interesting caught my eyes. There was a woman in my window; she was walking towards my store. Her hand reaching out to grab the handle. But she didn't even move as if she was frozen in place.

I walked towards the window and peaked out at her. She was wearing a dark blue gown laced with silver silk lace. Cream-colored ribbons were present around her elbows and around her neck. I could see her cream-colored petticoat around her neck. Her shoes were heeled with dark blue colored leather and had a since silver shoe buckle in the front. Her dark brown hair reached down the center of her back. But what really drew me in is her beautiful violet colored eyes. Her face was a paler shade of white that looked like it had be crafted by angels. Not a single flaw could be seen by the naked eye.

But I quickly turned away and walked back over to my desk. She must be the woman coming to pick up the pocket watch. I have no time to flirt with random strangers. If I do than I'll just get distracted. Knowing Zen he'd lector me for days without end about women and work.

I reached for the pocket watch and clicked the button again. Suddenly it started to move and tick like normal again. I was suddenly surrounded by ticking from the other clocks. It was a welcome sound at least. But I heard woman opening the door as it disrupted my few seconds of peace. Her heeled shoes slowly and gently clacking on my wooden floors. She gently closed the door behind her and proceeded to walk a few steps towards me. She stopped and spoke, her voice sounded so beautiful, like the voice of an angel. Not scratchy nor irritating but smooth and delightful.

"Excuse me sir," she said, taking a small curtsy. "I'm here to pick up a watch I sent in." I turned around and noticed that she looked about the same age as me, maybe a year younger.

"May I ask your name?"

"Marilyn….Marilyn Albeit," she said sweetly. I walked behind my desk and pulled out her grandfather's pocket watch. She walked over to my desk and sat down a small brown leather pouch. As it touched the surface of the desk, I could hear coins jingling inside. I took a peek inside to see about fifteen maybe more gold coins inside. "I hope this would be enough."

"This is great, thank you." She smiled and picked up the pocket watch.

"Thank you so much for fixing it," she said gracefully. "My grandfather's gonna be so happy to see this fixed." She looked at me with a curious stare as I put the pouch of gold coins under my desk. "What's your name?"

"Sylvester Galigandro." She smiled sweetly but then quickly changed when she saw my expressionless face.

"You don't seem so happy," she said, leaning in closer to me. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She didn't believe me, she leaned in closer to the point where we were almost kissing.

"Something tells me that you're not being honest with me," she said, slightly irritated. "When a woman asks you a question you should be honest with her." I didn't answer back, I just picked up a random broken clock and began fixing it. "Well you're no fun to talk to, that's annoying." She's getting in my face and I'm the one who's annoying. That makes me laugh.

She stood up and with a huff; she stomped towards the door. I listened as she slammed the door behind her and walked away. But she stood in front of my window again and stared at me. A mad expression in her eyes and her hands on her hips made me feel uncomfortable. I hope that she leaves before someone else comes in. I don't need that kind of attention around me.

It took her a minute before she got the picture and decided to leave. I'm only here to make a life for myself. Because nothing's happened to make me have to stay here than I don't need to converse with total strangers. As far as I'm concerned I don't need to make friends. Creating bonds with someone either gets you killed or the other person killed. That's something I don't want on my hands. I've seen my fair share of death to know better.

Suddenly this searing pain hit my eyes. The world around me went black as another world opened itself up to me. I could see a woman in a dark alleyway with three men surrounding her. Two on lookout as the other one raped and left her to pick herself up. I can see where she's gonna be and I can see her face. It's gonna happen at…10:37 tonight. That's seven hours away.

The vision faded away as I was left a little angry. I just met her and now she's gonna be attacked tonight. Why the hell am I bothered by this anyway? People get attacked all the time by soldiers, drunkards and whatever vagabond's wandering around. It's nothing but a nuisance with all this violence. But it's not my job to care, all I'm supposed to do is keep the timelines in check. Everything else is just whatever happens happens. If I get involved than I run the risk of endangering my family.

(Eight hours and forty five minutes later)(On the Streets) Nighttime covered the air around Boston with a cool feeling. Small breezes blew around every five minutes. The light from the full moon gave the streets a more serene look. Without all the people walking around and the sounds of horses galloping the streets are peaceful. With only a few people walking around and the occasional horse and carriage going around the streets were safe and peaceful. But not everything can last.

Marilyn walked her way across the street towards Sylvester's Clock Repair shop. She forgot something at the store so she had to go back. But what she really wanted was to at least talk to him. But three shadowy men following closely behind her were willing to grab her and have their way with her.

She was about ten feet away when one of the men reached his hand out and grabbed her arm and squeezed hard. She winced in pain as she tried to pull away. But the man refused to let go as he pulled her in closer to him. His breath reeked of whisky and onions and his clothes stank with the smell of rotten cabbage and stale booze. His putrid odor made her skin crawl and eyes water.

"Where do you think you're going lass?" the man asked in a condescending tone. "Little ladies shouldn't be out at night it's dangerous." The two men behind him chuckled as they watched her squirm.

"Please just leave me alone," she said in a sweet tone. But the man was unfazed, he knew what he wanted.

"Don't worry," he said trying to trick her. "We'll take you home." She knew what the man meant. She tried punching and kicking but he was too drunk to care.

He yanked her arm towards the alleyway beside Sylvester's store. The two men followed closely behind him. But neither he or his buddies saw the shadowy man following behind him. As they got in the alley he threw her against the wall and started to touch her. The other two men stood at the entrance to keep watch for soldiers.

She let out a loud cry for help but the drunken man backhanded hard enough to put her on the ground. She sat helpless as the drunken man began to work his fingers on her dress. Moving them casually, touching each piece of the dress as he giggled like a child. She could see it in his eyes what he wanted to do with her. All she could do was watch in horror as the man worked his way down to her panties.

The two men keeping watch caught a glimpse of a shadowy man fifteen feet away from them. One of the men looked back at his friend to see him already working his way into her dress. His dirty fingers tore away at her dress to reveal her succulent breasts. Vibrant and beautiful, the drunken man grabbed them and squeezed hard. She screamed in pain but the man backhanded her again.

The man watching turned back to see that his friend was gone. Without a sound the man disappeared. All that was left from where he stood was a few drops of fresh blood and a knife that he dropped. The drunken man already started to suck on her tender nipples. With each suck she let out a small gasp. Unable to escape, she knew she wouldn't make it out alive. For the drunken man planned to kill her after she was down.

The man keeping watch turned back out to watch the streets but the shadowy men was in front of him. He thrusted a rag over the man's mouth and looked him in the eyes. With one swift thrust, the shadowy man jammed the blade of the knife into the left side of man's neck. Horrified, the man jerked only to open the wound up more. Blood began pouring down from the wound as his body began shaking wildly. The shadowy man yanked the knife out of the man's neck only to thrust it into the other side. His body became cold and limp from the blood loss. He was dead, cold and soaked in his own blood. The shadowy man grabbed him and they suddenly disappeared.

The drunken man hadn't even noticed, his eyes still fixated on Marilyn. He hands moved down her waist as the met her hips. She quickly closed her legs but he was still too strong. He forced her legs open as watched in horror as what would come next. He reached his dirty hand towards her panties. She tried another cry for help but met another backhand to her face. Her face turned bright red like a tomato.

"Please…..please…I beg you," she cried. "Please just let me go." But the drunken man still ignored her as he grabbed her panties and gently began to pull.

"Don't worry baby," he said smoothly. "It'll all be over soon." Tears ran down her cheeks and her heart began racing. She knew that she the pain would kick in soon.

She looked out towards the streets to see that the two men were gone. She noticed a small knife laying on the ground. Hoping she could break away and grab it, she tried to move. But he was too strong and forced against the wall again. She looked towards the street again and saw the shadowy man standing there. A small bloody knife held tightly in his left hand. Still dripping drops of blood from a fresh kill.

The drunken man finally cocked his head to see the shadowy man staring at him. The shadowy man's silver eyes stared down at the drunken man. He stood perfectly still and watched the drunken man. Enraged, he barely managed to stand up. He reached in his trousers and pulled out a small flintlock pistol. He raised the end of the barrel and pointed it towards the shadowy man. But the man didn't flinch at the sight of the gun.

"Go home kid before you get hurt?" the drunken man said. The shadowy man didn't answer which angered the drunken man. "Didn't your mama tell you to listen to grownups?" He lowered the barrel of his gun and turned his attention back towards Marilyn.

"Please just let me go," she pleaded. But the man didn't care. He knelt down and grabbed her chin. He pulled her face in to kiss her.

"Didn't your mama ever tell you to respect women?" the Shadowy man asked in a condescending tone. The drunken man huffed and stood up.

"I'm not gonna tell you again you little shit," said the drunken man, raising the end of the barrel to point it at the man again. "Get the hell outta her before I….._aaagggggghhhhh!" _The drunken man found a knife stuck in his shoulder. The shadowy man appeared behind him with another knife in his hand.

He threw a rag over the drunken man's mouth and thrusted the knife into his back. Moving the blade of the knife like a saw, he tore through the drunken man's flesh. Blood trickled down the man's backside. He pulled the knife out, turned the drunken man around and repeatedly began stabbing him the chest. Finally the drunken man collapsed and died.

Marilyn opened her eyes to see the drunken man dead. She looked up at the shadowy man's bloody hand and wondered what was gonna happen next. But he just looked down at the body.

"Thank you for saving me," she said, happy to see him. He pulled off his coat and handed it to her. Even though it was stained with spots of blood, she took it anyway. He looked away so she could cover herself up. But he listened to her thanking him every few seconds he had his back turned.

The man knelt down towards the body and yanked out the knife that had been sticking out of the dead man's shoulder. His nose twitched as he picked up the scent of the man's booze. He reached his hand into the man's coat and pulled out a bottle with a forth of old whiskey. He brought the mouth of the bottle towards his nose but quickly jerked his head back.

"This should do to get rid of the body," he said. Marilyn looked over and saw him pouring the rest of the whiskey on the man's body.

He set the empty bottle calmly on the ground and turned his attention back towards Marilyn. She was covered up and stumbling to her feet. She was about halfway up before she lost her footing and started to fall back down. He rushed over to her and grabbed her before she could hit the wall. The light finally hit his face as her eyes just popped open.

"Sylvester!" she said pretty stunned. The blood drained from her face as she just stared at him. He held his hand out to help her up. She kindly took it as he helped her stand up. "How did you?"

"Let's just forget this shall we," he said, pulling a small black Zippo lighter out of his pocket. "I think it would best if you go home and forget what you just experienced." Her fists clenched up as her attitude towards him changed.

"I'm not gonna forget about this," she said, pulling away. She stared at the lighter, wondering what it was. "What's that?"

He opened the lighter and lit it. Without a care, he threw it on the body and watched the flames blaze up. Marilyn jumped as the flames burned the body. The flames consumed the drunken man's body, slowly melting away his flesh. The air smelled like burning flesh and stale booze. It was enough for Marilyn to let out a small sickly cough.

"For stale booze it lights up pretty fast," he said plainly. He looked back over at Marilyn. Her eyes started to droop as she suddenly fell to the ground and passed out. He sighed in disappointment as he picked her up. "I guess that was a little too much for her." He walked out of the alleyway with her body dangling in his arms. "Why do I always get stuck with the unconscious ones? Next time I'm just gonna move to the Civil War to meet Mr. Abraham Lincoln."

He turned the corner and walked into his shop. He laid her down on his bed in the back of the building, which he lived in. Knowing what was to come off her, he hated himself for saving her. To him, saving her was a risk he hated himself for taking. Hopefully when she wakes up he can convince her that she was just dreaming. Knowing the risk, he had to do something before she could become a threat.

(Sylvester) I pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. I could feel the leather grip of the knife becoming hot in my hand. Her soft skin in my coat smelled like her perfume. I saw her being attacked and I still saved her. It's a stupid mistake on my part but I can't let that go unanswered. I can't see the results of me convincing her that it was all a dream. So I'll just have to see for myself when she wakes up.

See what happens next in Chapter IV: Sylvester's Choice

_**Sylvester Galigandro: I'll admit that it wasn't my best day. But seeing what was gonna happen to her just made me act. I hated myself for saving her but I guess things happen for a reason. **_


End file.
